In the Flesh
by janebled
Summary: The following fanfic is my loving tribute to the fascinating world originally designed by Thomas Harris, & masterfully envisioned by Bryan Fuller and his creative team at NBC. The characters & the original story are not mine. Synopsis: Hannibal reflects upon the spoils of his victory at Will's expense. Rating: 16 Pairings (in this chapter): Hannigram, Hannibal/Alana
1. Immersion

**_In the Flesh_**  
(A Fanfic Based on NBC's **_Hannibal_**)

*This story begins around the timeline of S2E10 ("Naka-Choko")

*The characters and original story are not mine. They belong to Thomas Harris, and their adaptation belongs to the brilliant Bryan Fuller & his visionary colleagues.

* * *

**Prologue**

Restless beneath the full moon's spell, the stag pawed at the forest floor; unearthing bits of dirt with its powerful front hooves. Snorting, it reared its head around to face Will. He trembled, but not with fear. The long-awaited moment of reckoning was finally upon him.

Reaching out, Will grasped the stag's stiff antlers with both hands. Instead of rebuking his touch, the beast let out a whispery sigh, and leaned into him. Looking down, Will saw Hannibal's face. It was not the face of the Hannibal-stag hybrid—it was the good doctor himself.

Lunging, Will pushed Hannibal to the ground and straddled him. Hannibal's body was firm and warm beneath his weight. Will grunted in appreciation and wrapped his hands around Hannibal's throat. He squeezed, hard and fast, and then he felt the windpipe collapse. Hannibal didn't attempt to fight back. Instead, he relaxed his body; never tearing his eyes away from Will's.

Will could feel their two heartbeats at once. His own raced as Hannibal's decelerated. Through a curtain of black and red, Will increased the pressure of his grip. Hannibal's face purpled. Will pressed against him and squeezed more forcefully, breathing fast. Hannibal almost seemed to smile as his heart stopped. Will felt a potent release when Hannibal succumbed to his mortality.

Lunar light bathed the land in an eerie juxtaposition of brightness and shadow. Hannibal's eyes, still half-open, stared without sight. Slowly releasing his grip, Will rolled his body to the side and pressed his ear against Hannibal's slack mouth. He stayed in that position until he was sure all the breath had left his prey.

Soundlessly, he sat up and observed his handiwork, captivated by the fitting balance of composition Hannibal's moon-bathed corpse imbued to the idyllic forest scenery.

Will's predator's heart rejoiced at the feeling of power taking Hannibal's life gave him.

His design had taken shape.

* * *

**Chapter 1: Immersion**

Hannibal reveled in bringing his human art project to life. Every stroke of the brush, skillfully rendered, painted his mind's canvas with the image of his ideal murderous companion. Within Will's fragile psyche was the potential to self-destruct and arise from the ashes like a phoenix with outstretched wings.

Will Graham was the beloved muse Hannibal had never known he was missing - until the morning he fed him his first bite of human sausage, and watched Will relish the flavor. How eagerly Will had chewed the meat before it passed smoothly down his esophagus and into his waiting stomach. How he had beamed at the unexpected taste. In that moment, Hannibal had glimpsed at the dark potential lurking below Will's guise of boyish innocence.

Not only physically appealing, Will possessed an alluring purity of soul. When shadows called to him, and he answered without the shudder of fear that was typical of most people. He had seen Hannibal, and not looked away.

The idea that someone might finally know him was too intoxicating a notion for Hannibal to abandon. He possessed enough self-awareness to recognize that he was, as Dr. Du Maurier had keenly observed, obsessed with Will Graham. Nevertheless, he firmly believed that he remained in control of his infatuation.

When Hannibal needed inspiration for implementing the next phase of his seduction, he drew it directly from the source. The long-ago moment in Garret Jacob Hobbs' kitchen, when Hannibal saw firsthand the bloodshed of which Will was capable, played on a loop inside the cavernous inner chambers of his grand mansion of memories. Will's recent offering of Randall Tier now crowded his thoughts; earning the distinction of being the happiest memory in Hannibal's recent past.

With a rueful smile, he strode over to his harpsichord, ready to work on his latest composition. He propped open the lid, and then smoothed back the pages of the handwritten score displayed on the music desk. Closing his eyes, he bowed his head over the instrument, blindly caressing the keys with a lover's touch. He allowed his thoughts to take him where they might. As he fingered the notes, the music of his composition transported him to another dimension.

* * *

In his mind's eye, Hannibal envisioned Will, bathed in blood; hunching down on a thick carpet of pine needles. Randall Tier's modified corpse, mounted on in the middle of forest clearing, watched over them. The sights and scents of nature filled Hannibal's nose.

He knelt down next to Will, and smoothed his matted hair.

"You have never been more beautiful to me," he whispered, gently unsnarling the tangles from Will's blood-sticky curls.

Will looked up at him. The whites of his eyes starkly contrasted with his scarlet-stained skin. "Are you pleased?"

Lovingly, Hannibal gazed at him. "'Pride goeth before a fall.' That being said, I'm delighted by your progress."

"What comes next?" Will murmured.

"That remains to be seen."

Will turned on his focus on Randall Tier. "This can't be the end."

"It never has to end," Hannibal responded. He took his hand away from Will's hair and regarded his blood-soaked fingertips. Drawing the tip of his thumb into his mouth, he tasted it. The iron tang of life filled him with joy. He licked his skin again, seeking more satisfaction.

Then, Will was standing beside him, taking Hannibal's thumb into his own mouth. With a quiet whimper, he savored Randall's blood as he sucked it from Hannibal's flesh.

"So this is what triumph tastes like," he murmured, releasing Hannibal's hand.

"You can't even begin to imagine what new flavors await your altered palate," Hannibal whispered against the shell of his ear.

Standing side by side, Hannibal and Will regarded Randall with quiet reverence; relishing the victim they shared.

Will touched his sleeve. "I'm looking forward to drafting our next piece," he whispered.

As his partner admired Randall Tier's display, Hannibal schemed in confidence about their promising future together.

* * *

Hannibal's quickened pulse returned him to the present. Savoring the fantasy a moment longer, he eased more deeply into the music of the harpsichord. Enraptured, he allowed his mind to drift into oblivion as he reached the song's climax. On the resounding final chord, his fingers left the keys with a flourish. The last shivery note suspended in the desire-thickened air.

After taking a moment to recover from the emotion his playing always exerted, Hannibal bowed to an empty audience; then strode over to the desk to pick up his phone. His pulse was still racing. Dialing Alana's number, Hannibal forced himself to breathe normally.

"Hello?" Alana's voice was husky.

"I was wondering if you'd like to help me with my composition."

Alana sounded surprised. "Now?"

"If you have the time."

She paused for a moment; then gave a sexy laugh. "Why not? It's been too long since we worked on the last one."

"Indeed," Hannibal replied. "I'll expect you in a half hour then."

Without waiting for her response, he hung up the phone and loosened his tie. A little company from an eager subject might inspire him to orchestrate the next phase in Will's transformation.

* * *

Trailing kisses down Alana's neck, Hannibal paused for a moment at the jugular. Her pulse throbbed seductively. Gently suckling on the skin, he took a deep whiff of her lilac scent and let it fill him. Moaning softly, she tangled her fingers in his hair, mussing it. Her aggressive touch ignited a slow burn in his core. Tearing his lips away from her neck, he stared into her striking blue eyes and stroked the curve of her waist.

Hannibal felt no twinge of the guilt over having an affair with Alana. Though she was Will's erstwhile love interest, Hannibal could see that the two of them would never have a chance. Alana thought she understood Will, but that was her illusion. In reality, she couldn't be further from gleaning the truth about his behavior. That was a privilege Will only afforded to Hannibal.

"Where are you right now?" Alana suddenly asked. The worry in her voice was apparent.

"Wherever you are," he smoothly responded.

Alana gave him a doubtful smile. "Are you sure I'm the one who's occupying your thoughts?"

He placed a soothing kiss on her lips. "Who else could occupy my thoughts, with such a vision of beauty before my eyes?"

Dragging his tongue across her collarbone, he found the spot that made her gasp.

"You're so receptive," he whispered.

Alana closed her eyes. "You're not giving me much of a choice."

He parted her smooth thighs and delighted at what he found between them. Alana sighed in complicity. Tendrils of wavy black hair alighted upon her shoulders like wings. Hannibal studied her, truly pleased by her appearance. She gasped; firm breasts heaving with desire and anticipation.

He wondered what Will would do in a situation like this. Would he tenderly caress her, or paw at her with desperate hands? Would he stare into her eyes as she mounted him, or would he take from behind, forcing her to face away so that he didn't have to remember her betrayal? Both were fascinating images to ponder and dissect at length.

A sudden premonition of Alana's dying moment came into him; insinuated itself with sly stealth. Closing his eyes, he heard her gasp her last breath as he squeezed it from her. He would make a transcendent tableau to capture the moment of her stunning death.

For many reasons, Hannibal smiled. With a wry quirk of his lips, he descended into Alana's welcoming arms; inwardly gloating as he took from her the satisfaction that Will's friendship afforded him.

* * *

Will wanted to remember what remorse felt like. The world around him was cold without it. Hannibal had taken everything from him, and given nothing in return, save a purer understanding of the evil, and an infinite list of regrets. He was not sorry that Randall Tier was dead, but the images of mutilating his corpse haunted Will's nightmares.

Randall's dismemberment had proved to be messy, exhausting, and mentally disturbing. When Will had finally stepped back to behold his art, however, a perverse sort of pride bubbled up inside him. He didn't want to dwell on the implications of his reaction for too long, lest he lose sight of his quest to incarcerate the depraved Dr. Lecter.

With a dry swallow, Will knocked on Hannibal's door. It was time for his postmortem therapy session. Although the two of them had briefly spoken the night he killed Randall Tier, Hannibal had insisted they discuss it in further detail at his next appointment.

"Catharsis is necessary to heal the wounds of the soul," Hannibal had said. Will had to admit that he probably wasn't wrong about that.

He cocked his ears, listening for Hannibal's approach. Suddenly, the door opened, and Dr. Lecter appeared.

Will stared up at the charming monster he had unwittingly befriended.

"Will," Hannibal said warmly. "Please come in."

Will strode inside with purpose. "Do you have any of the hard stuff?"

"Always," Hannibal said. After closing the door behind Will, he straightened up and walked over to corner of the room. He brought out the pecan-colored bar cart, rolling it carefully along the floor so as not to upset the glasses.

"Lagavulin 16," Hannibal said. As if from thin air, he brandished a bottle of expensive-looking Scotch. "One of my favorite Scotch whiskies. Some connoisseurs would argue that it's the ultimate Islay malt."

Will watched him as he suavely poured a dram of Lagavulin into each of the elegant Copita nosing glasses resting on the bar cart. With a neat flourish of the wrist, he presented one of the glasses to Will, holding it by the stem so as not to warm the Scotch.

Their fingertips brushed as Will accepted the drink. Straightening up, Hannibal poured a healthy dram of Scotch into his own glass and took a seat in the chair across from Will. Firelight enhanced the alluring angles of his slightly flushed face.

The endless waiting silence stretched between them. Taking a sip of the Lagavulin, Will leaned back against the chair's padded headrest and closed his eyes. The smoky-sweet spirits coated his throat with pleasant warmth.

He picked at something invisible on his sleeve, a habit from his former self—the Will Graham that neither kept the company of cannibals, nor enjoyed their camaraderie.

"How do you find the Lagavulin?" Hannibal prompted, silently gauging his reaction.

Will flicked his tongue over his bottom lips to catch the remaining drops of Scotch. "It's sinfully palatable."

Hannibal stared into his eyes. "Like murder?"

Will took another sip. "Once you acquire a taste for it..."

"You're loath to give it up," Hannibal finished. He swirled the whisky around in his glass, letting it coat the sides. Narrowing his eyes, he assessed the color and texture of the alcohol. Seemingly pleased, he nodded his approval, and passed the glass beneath his nose, inhaling the Scotch's aroma.

Hannibal took a long, slow sip of Lagavulin and let it linger in his mouth. Briefly, he closed his eyes in enjoyment.

"Thick…rich…huge finish. I find its boldness inspiring. The ideal nightcap to complement an intimate tête-à-tête."

Will felt the corners of his mouth tugging into a smile, and decided to let it happen. He felt simultaneously restless and relaxed. All the time, he was aware of his role as the lure. The position he found himself in was uncomfortably precarious, but he couldn't deny the certain thrill he experienced whenever delicately extracting more incriminating testimony from Hannibal.

"I admire your skill," Will told him. It was true. "You always seem to know which drink will suit the atmosphere even before you've grown accustomed to it."

Hannibal took another languid sip of his drink. "Doubt has a distinctly sour odor. It's biting. Astringent."

Will shifted his focus into the tulip-shaped glass. The amber liquid swirled, its deep hue reflecting golden beams in the firelight. Concentrating, he forced his facial muscles not to tense.

"Something's plaguing you, Will," Hannibal insisted. "It's in your best interest to reveal it to me."

Will laughed humorlessly. "Since when do you have my best interest at heart?"

Hannibal's eyes narrowed. "Since I decided to make you privy to my inner machinations. It's not a privilege that is easily afforded. Perhaps you should take care as to how you comport yourself."

Will tensed. When Hannibal made vaguely sinister statements like that, he almost doubted his fishing ability.

"This psychological venture of yours," Hannibal mused. His eyes glittered over the top of the nosing glass. "It's a foray into the dark unknown. The intimate conversation you're having with your demons presents imminent danger to your current self-perception."

Will rolled Lagavulin around on his tongue for a moment before swallowing.

"And what is my current self-perception?" he responded.

"You see yourself as a victim. You're inclined to believe your actions are the byproduct of the trauma you've endured."

Will gritted his teeth. "The trauma you forced me to endure."

Hannibal raised his eyebrows. "It's our first instinct to blame others when the undercurrent of guilt runs thickly through our consciousness."

"You're as guilty as I am. More so, even."

Hannibal drummed his fingers on the mahogany chair in a rare display discomfort. "Yes, to a certain extent, I suppose I do feel a semblance of guilt."

"But do you feel remorse?" Will persisted, working his way inside Hannibal's mind. It felt like his own when he stepped over the threshold.

Hannibal gestured with his glass. "Remorse is one of the most humane facets of emotion. That being said, excess emotion impedes the mechanism of logical thought. It's a weakness."

Will didn't even flinch at the sting of Hannibal's smug certainty when he uttered his presumption about the human condition. Leisurely, he took a swallow of his drink. He had been playing the game for so long; it was no longer a stretch of the imagination to think like a psychopath.

"Do you know what I think would benefit you, Will?"

Hannibal's question caught Will off guard.

"What?" he asked.

"I want you to relive the moment you killed Randall Tier."

Ill at ease, Will frowned. "I don't see what good that would do. I put him in the past, you got what you wanted. As usual."

Hannibal quirked his lips into a tight smile. "You sound hurt."

"Bitter, maybe."

Hannibal steepled his fingers, considering Will's statement. After a slight pause, he remarked, "Bitterness stems from hurt."

Grinning, Will bared his teeth. "Then I guess I'm guilty as charged."

Hannibal pursed his lips and looked to the side. "Do you know why I sent Randall after you?"

Will smirked. "Curiosity killed the cat."

"Yes, but beyond that, I was intrigued," Hannibal replied. "I see great potential in you, Will. It's been so rewarding to watch your transformation."

Will shook his head. "You changed me."

"Life changed you," Hannibal countered. "I'm merely one of the people who influenced your course of action."

"You're not a person, Doctor," Will muttered. "You're far from that."

Hannibal peered at him. "Then what am I, Will? A monster, like the one you see yourself becoming?"

"Your appetite for murder is voracious," Will said. "To the average person, your actions would be construed as psychopathic."

Hannibal shrugged. "Freedom from societal conventions of right and wrong does not make me a psychopath."

Will grimaced. "But killing people and eating them does."

"And what does that say about you, Will? Look at the company you keep."

Will shifted a bit in his chair. "I know how much we're alike."

Hannibal licked his lips. "Do you think that by killing me, you'd be killing the worst part of yourself?"

Will mulled over his next words, before deciding that honesty would bring him no harm in this situation. "I'd have justice."

Hannibal tilted his head to the side. "But think of the aftermath. Once I was dead, you would be alone again. No one else understands you like I do."

"That's probably the main reason why I haven't tried to kill you again," Will muttered. The alcohol was fast-acting tonight.

"But the fantasy of murdering me is ever present in your mind," Hannibal pressed.

Will drained the contents of his glass, wincing as he gulped the fiery Lagavulin. "Can you blame me?"

"It is not my role to assign blame," Hannibal said.

"Not even when I'm openly admitting to having these…urges?"

Hannibal tilted his head to the side. "Tell me more about when you killed Randall Tier."

Will took a tight sip of air. "I imagined I was killing you."

"How did you do it?"

Will smirked. "With my hands."

Hannibal narrowed his eyes. "In this fantasy, were you on top of me when you delivered the final blow?"

Slowly, Will nodded his head. He drained the contents of his glass. He started to feel warmer, whether from the alcohol firing his blood, or opening fantasizing about Hannibal's death, he couldn't distinguish.

"Did I say anything to you?"

Looking up, he found Hannibal's curious eyes upon him.

"You smiled," Will finally replied. "Like you were glad."

The fire crackled. Hannibal leaned back in his chair, pensive.

"Perhaps I was. In one's fantasies, all is possible."

"What dreams may come, to those who wake," Will said with a bitter smile.

"Were anyone ever to kill me," Hannibal leaned forward, and looked into Will's eyes. "I would want it to be you."

"I'm flattered," Will said in a voice barely above a whisper. His breath was tight in his throat and he found it hard to breathe.

Out of the corner of his eye, Will saw the stag toss its head. It walked toward him, challenging; beckoning. He shivered.

"'Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me, and I in him," Hannibal quoted. "We are as one, and the same, Will."

"You're inside me," Will said in a low voice.

Hannibal briefly glanced at Will's mouth. "Where?"

Will tapped his head. "Here."

The silence between imparted veiled meanings.

* * *

**Chapter 2: Dominion** is coming on Friday, June 20th.

Comments are appreciated, but never expected. However, hearing feedback from readers passionately inspires me to write more. ;)

If you're looking for another free read, similar in tone to my Hannibal fic, try _**Crimson**_, the first book in my award-winning LGBT vampire series _**MASTER**_.

**Free** today (6/20) on Amazon.


	2. Dominion

**In the Flesh**

**Chapter 2: Dominion**

* * *

Will blinked, expecting to awaken from the dream, but Margot Verger still stood in front of him, shoulders bared. She asked him to touch her. After a moment's hesitation, Will traced Margot's hideous scars, and then found her ripe mouth. She tugged on his belt with a desperate sigh.

"Make me forget," she whispered against his lips.

It had been too long since his kiss with Alana. The physical proximity of another woman—a beautiful one at that—reminded Will what he had been craving all these long months of imprisonment, solitude, and self-imposed exile from Alana's graces.

Sighing, he hungrily devoured Margot's mouth. She sought him out with her fingers, applying a gentle, firm pressure to his most sensitive areas. Overwhelmed by the intimate contact, his knees buckled. A sudden flash of Randall Tier's glassy-eyed, dismantled corpse interrupted the pleasure of the moment.

"_See yourself in me_," Randall's apparition softly told him. Involuntarily, Will shuddered.

Margot touched his face. "You OK?"

Chasing away the gruesome vision, Will placed his hand over hers. "You're very convincing. I almost forgot that men aren't your usual preference."

Margot's eyes narrowed. "A girl's gotta step outside her comfort zone every once in a while."

Will frowned. "So you're trying me on for size?"

Margot looked at him with a serious expression. "Listen, Will. You're handsome, discreet, and, as far as I know, you're not abusive."

Will opened his mouth to speak, but Margot shushed him with two perfectly manicured fingertips.

"Right now," she whispered seductively, looking through lowered lashes, "I think what we both need is a little distraction."

The expression in Margot's eyes was a mixture between seductive and desperate. It dawned on Will that perhaps she had an ulterior motive, but he didn't pay much attention to that sudden insight. She was here now, in front of him; ready for the taking. Briefly, he wondered whether or not he would later regret their tryst, but it was too hard to think straight when she pressed her lithe body directly against his, creating unbearable friction.

Margot glanced down, taking note of his excitement. "Why don't you show me what else you have to offer?"

Will barely nodded. Taking her hand, he led her into the bedroom and firmly closed the door.

* * *

The scenery shifted. Margot was nowhere in sight. Instead of lying in bed beneath rumpled sheets, Will found himself situated in the familiar wooded landscape of his nightmares. The trees around him grew impossibly taller, stretching out their sinewy limbs to welcome him into the night. Nocturnal creatures murmured, their voices providing an ominous soundtrack to underscore the severe disorientation Will felt.

He blinked, belatedly realizing he naked; sitting on the forest floor next to a woman with raven hair. The detritus of dead leaves and sharp pine needles ground harshly into his unclothed flesh, but Will barely noticed when he recognized Alana's lovely face. All he could see was her, resplendently nude. Her petite, curvaceous body glowed pale blue in the moonlight.

_Touch her_, a deep voice commanded inside his head.

When he looked up, Will saw the Hannibal-stag hybrid sitting on its haunches on the other side of Alana.

A knowing leer crossed its coal-black lips. Without speaking aloud, it said, _We can both partake of her. Consider it a gesture of friendship_.

Across from the creature that frequented his disturbed fantasies was a far cry from how Will had envisioned his long-desired moment of intimacy with the woman he still loved. He tried to open his mouth to protest, but he could not move his lips to speak the words. An invisible force held his tongue.

Possessively, the hybrid caressed the curve of Alana's waist.

_Show Will how charming you can be_, it suggested. _Let him feel what he's been missing_.

Obediently, Alana sat up. Despite his mounting horror, Will couldn't take his eyes off her. She was the picture of feminine perfection from head to toe. Everything he had always imagined her to be, and more.

Quickly, she straddled him. Her lovely blue eyes, usually so full of life, were vacant. Will tried to move away, but Alana held him tightly with her strong thighs. She looked to the hybrid, seeking direction. It grunted in approval, and then she shifted her position, hovering above him. Coerced into motionlessness, Will could only implore her to stop with his eyes. His message went unheeded as she took him in hand, guiding him toward the source of her heat.

_Look at me_, the hybrid commanded. His eyes burned into Will's. _Remember this moment_.

Will found he could not disobey when Alana lowered herself onto him. Effortlessly, she drew Will inside her. His mind went to war with his carnal urges as Alana increased the pace of their coupling. Her warmth around him was too tempting to ignore. His muscles quivered with the anticipation of release.

The hybrid donned a knowing smirk. _Doesn't she feel exquisite_?

Will's hatred for the creature only fueled within him perverse desires. Unable to hold back any longer, he rocked his hips forward, pushing himself deeper inside.

Wantonly, Alana threw back her head and arched her back. Will sat up, still firmly ensconced within her. Hands shaking, he cupped her breasts and buried his face between them, kissing their supple curves. Alana exhaled sharply and bounced up and down faster. Will dug his heels into the gritty dirt beneath him, savoring the closeness.

As they rocked together, steadily reaching the peak of frenzy, Will glanced at the hybrid. Eyes gleaming with approval, it observed his frenetic motions.

_Good boy_, it sighed. _Your compliance is a most stimulating sight to behold_.

Will watched the hybrid slip an elongated, claw-tipped hand between its legs and start to pleasure itself. Ungodly sounds of lust provided the soundtrack for his love-making with Alana. All around them, the forest air vibrated with a sinister melody of need and desire.

* * *

Sweating, Will awoke, aching with aborted ecstasy. He swept damp curls off his feverish forehead and tried to calm his breathing. Still, he heard the echo of the hybrid's raspy voice inside his head.

_Let me guide you toward release_.

Unable to vanquish the persistent tension from his body, Will stared at the walls for a full ten minutes before finishing what his incubus had begun.

* * *

"Will," Jack said with a serious face. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

They sat alone in Jack's office. Will had come to dread these conversations. Lately, he found himself forced to tell only half-truths. Had Jack known the extent of his descent into the abyss, he most likely would have pulled the plug on their grand scheme to catch Hannibal red-handed.

Will crossed his arms. "I told you, Jack—I'm in all in. Not matter what the stakes."

Jack slowly nodded his head. "Yes, you did tell me that. But I can't stop worrying about what how this situation will affect your mental state. It wasn't that long ago that I nearly lost you to the darkness. Now you're submerged in it."

"Being fair, you contributed to that." Will couldn't keep bitterness from seeping into his tone. On some level, not too deep down in his consciousness, he still resented Jack for believing that he was the Chesapeake Ripper.

"I should have listened to you in the first place," Jack agreed. "But there's nothing I can do to change the past." Pausing for a moment, he readjusted his tie. "Are you absolutely certain you've got the situation under control?"

Will smiled ruefully. "I'm not sure about anything anymore. But Hannibal's falling fast under my influence."

Pensive, Jack said, "Is he the only one being influenced? I can't get what you did to Randall Tier's corpse out of my head."

Will took a deep breath. Truthfully, he couldn't get it out of his head either—but not for the reasons that Jack assumed.

"In order to keep Hannibal's trust, I have to play the part," he said.

Jack looked uncertain. "I hope you're right. This situation is precarious. You're putting yourself at risk. Again."

Will shrugged. "Risks are worth taking, if they serve the purpose of justice."

Jack rapped his knuckles on the desk. "Tread carefully, Will. Hannibal Lecter has deceived you before."

"My eyes were closed then," Will argued. "I couldn't see him."

"And now?"

Looking for the right words, Will fiddled with a stray thread on his coat before replying.

"When I look into Hannibal's mind, I see myself," he said, staring off into space. His eyes misted over with an indescribable emotion. "I see a man similar to the one I could have become, had Fate guided me down a different path. Reaching inside Hannibal's mind helps me understand how to influence our interactions in my favor. I'm holding Doctor Lecter firmly within my grasp."

"Be careful with your confidence, Will," Jack warned him. "Sociologist Larry Kersten put it best when he said, 'Before you attempt to beat the odds, be sure you could survive the odds beating you.'"

Will chuckled without humor. "Whether or not any of us survives remains to be seen."

Jack abstained from joining in Will's dark laughter. "You sound like a man about to sign to his own death warrant."

Will chose to ignore the blatant concern on his face. "I'm sorry, Jack, but I have to cut this short. Tonight, I'm having dinner with Hannibal, and I need to make sure I choose the right cut of meat."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "Providing the meat again? Smart idea."

Will refrained from saying that he entertained all kinds of ideas, but he hoped that this particular one would serve as the correct password to successfully enter the next level of Hannibal's secretive dominion.

* * *

Seated at Hannibal's grand dining room table, Will regarded the culinary work of art on his plate. Assorted colors, textures, and shapes adorned the beautifully presented repast, highlighting the star of the dish: Freddie Lounds. At least, a protein that Hannibal assumed was Freddie Lounds.

Really, the credit belonged to Randall Tier. Voiding himself of emotion, Will had butchered a portion of Randall's thigh and wrapped it neatly. The look on Hannibal's face when Will presented him with this surprise gift did not disappoint. Flashes of excitement, hope, and disbelief had registered across his usually placid features in a matter of seconds; then quickly disappeared, as if they had never existed.

Across the table, Will felt Hannibal's expectant gaze on him. Stabbing a piece of the braised meat with his fork, Will lifted it to his mouth. The realization that he had been eating human flesh, unaware for months, had occurred long ago. He had already absorbed the shock from that blow.

_In truth_, he heard Hannibal saying inside his mind. _The taste of human flesh is now something you crave_.

Without hesitating, he forked a piece of Randall's delicately simmered thigh into his mouth. The meat rested on his tongue for a brief moment before he started chewing. The flavor had a familiarity, but it was none too palatable. It suffered from certain lack of finesse, not from the preparation, but perhaps from the way in which the meat was obtained.

A look of near-reverence came into Hannibal's eyes as he watched Will eat. Will had to keep himself from grinning in triumph at how well he had Hannibal fooled. It was clear that he really thought they were eating Freddie Lounds. He had fallen for Will's ruse hook, line, and sinker.

Will's cruel smile spoke volumes of poetry.

* * *

After dinner, they adjourned to Hannibal's office for a nightcap.

"Perhaps you'd care for a _digestif_?" Hannibal offered.

Feeling curiously at ease, Will accepted. He stood by the fire while Hannibal prepared the drinks. A hot-hued kaleidoscope of colors exploded from the crackling embers.

Hannibal approached him, brandy snifter in hand. "A bit of Armagnac aids digestion. Our meal was hot and heavy tonight."

Will smirked. "She was indeed a filling feast."

Hannibal looked at Will through hooded eyes. "Do you feel satisfied?"

Will faintly smiled. "I feel like I've only begun to learn how to taste."

"There's a melody I'd like to hear, if you would indulge me," Hannibal said, handing him the drink.

Will indicated with a slight nod of his head. Pleased, Hannibal mounted the stairs and climbed to the second story of his office. A few moments later, the sounds of Monti's "Czardas" drifted down from the balcony. The alternately robust and indulgent piano accompaniment provided the perfect structure to cage the violin's bipolarity. Melded by a mutually parasitic partnership, the two instruments expressed love and loathing in equal measure.

Will closed his eyes and let the sounds wash over him. Not a big fan of classical music before he met Hannibal, he had grown somewhat accustomed to it after spending months in the doctor's company. Lately, he found the compositions soothing.

Having returned to the first floor, Hannibal circled around him like a shark. "Do you know anything about freemasonry, Will?"

Will blinked. "It's a cult."

"An ancient brotherhood," Hannibal amended. "Protected by sworn secrecy for centuries. When a new member is welcomed into the fold, there is a certain ritual he must undergo."

Will's mouth went dry He hadn't expected the conversation to veer in this direction. "Are you a Freemason?"

Hannibal's obsidian eyes glittered "Many men from all different walks of life subscribe to the brotherhood. Doctors, teachers, garbage collectors…I am not a member, but I'll admit to harboring a deep curiosity about their customs and beliefs."

Hannibal paused. Pursing his lips, he thought for a moment longer. Then, he said, "With your permission, I'd like to us to enact an abbreviated version of the Masonic initiation ritual."

Will's furrowed his brows. "Isn't that a form of blasphemy? I was under the impression that non-members were not supposed to perform sacred rituals."

"I don't subscribe the idea of blasphemy," Hannibal sneered. "One has to be God-fearing in order for such a prospect to carry any weight. I intend to interpret the Masonic initiation ritual in my own manner. The main purpose is to bring you closer to your true self."

"I suppose I have had an epiphany about who I really am," Will mused. He took a small sip of Armagnac; then rested the glass on the mantle of the fireplace.

Will didn't know who started it, but suddenly he and Hannibal were very close together. Hannibal stood there, as if waiting for Will to make a move. Frozen, Will watched as Hannibal removed his dinner jacket and folded it across his chair. Deftly, he unbuttoned the top button of his crisp white shirt and deftly undid his forest green cravat.

Will frowned, confused. "What are you doing?"

"'We are born knowing nothing and with much striving we learn but a little; yet all the while we are bound by laws that hearken to no plea of ignorance, and measure out their rewards and punishments with calm indifference.'"

Will recognized the quote. "Paul Elmer Moore was wise."

Hannibal picked up his Armagnac, taking a sip; then putting it down.

"'When, therefore, his suffering was over, and his humiliation past, the clothing in which he was invested was regarded as a meritorious clothing, available not only for himself, but for all who were initiated into the mysteries.'"

"Your memorization skills are impressive," Will said. His stomach felt queasy.

Hannibal tossed off Will's compliment with a casual wave of the hand. "Within my vast collection of memories, the catalogue of quotes represents the least of my accomplishments."

He started to doubt his ruse. It was possible Hannibal knew the meat they ate for dinner wasn't from Freddie Lounds. After all, Hannibal was the master of deception. "It would behoove us to mark the progression of your becoming with a symbolic gesture."

From his pants pocket, Hannibal produced a small, emerald-encrusted dagger. Engraved upon its silver hilt was the familiar symbol of Freemasons—the mysterious "G".

Will felt a trickle of fear.

Slowly, Hannibal withdrew the dagger from its sheath. The blade flashed.

"What is the role of the apprentice in the initiation?" Will asked, trying not to stutter.

Hannibal gazed at the dagger, admiring it. "The apprentice must first partially disrobe. Traditionally, he unbuttons his shirt, exposing his left breast. He rolls up his right pant leg and wears a slipper on the left foot."

Hannibal fingered the length of the dagger. "A rope is wrapped twice around his neck, and then he is blindfolded. "

Will's eyes were glued to Hannibal's caressing the dagger. "An act of humiliation."

Hannibal's eyes met his. "An act of spiritual surrender. You have crossed a threshold, Will. Never again can you retrace your footsteps to undo past actions. This is a crucial turning point in your self-awareness."

Will started to sweat. "I'm living a new existence."

"What repulsed you before now calls to you. Will you hearken?" Hannibal asked, slightly brandishing the dagger.

Will made himself stand still. "'I will see what he will do, before I will hearken to any man's judgment,'" he quoted. His voice trembled a little.

Hannibal smiled. "Clever boy."

"I aim to please," Will said. The sweat beading on his forehead was cold.

"Let's return to the matter at hand. I want you to trust me, Will," Hannibal said, lowering the dagger. "Are you able to?"

Will's eyelids fluttered. "What kind of a question is that?"

"I don't want to jeopardize the relationship we've recently re-forged."

"More than you've already done so?" Will couldn't resist saying, despite his inner terror.

Hannibal didn't answer. Instead, he approached, removing his tie with the hand not holding the dagger as he entered Will's personal space.

"Will you permit me to blindfold you?" Hannibal asked, looking down at him. Will could feel the heat radiating off his body.

"If that's an integral part of the ritual, then I suppose I should comply," he found himself saying.

Hannibal held the tie in front of his face. The dagger remained at his side. "Being deprived of sight will heighten your other senses."

"I'll have to rely on faith to get me through," Will replied. A side of him couldn't believe that he was about to allow a dagger-wielding Hannibal Lecter to blindfold him, but the stronger side convinced him it was for the best. He needed Hannibal to believe in him. It was the only way he would steal the upper hand in their relationship.

"Will you rely on faith in yourself? Or faith in me?" Hannibal asked him. Lightly, placed the tie over Will's right shoulder.

"Faith in God," Will answered, his voice steady.

Inwardly, he breathed a sigh of relief when Hannibal placed the dagger on the mantle. "Do you believe God will protect you, Will?"

He trailed his fingers toward the first button on Will's dark purple shirt.

"If there is a God," Will said, watching Hannibal's fingers slip the first button of his shirt through the buttonhole, "he will do what he wants with me."

"Are you not afraid that I'll do what I want?" Hannibal asked him in a low voice. Nimbly, his fingers unbuttoned Will's shirt the rest of the way.

"Do you want to hurt me?" Will whispered. His heart was a pounding drumbeat, pushing against his rib cage.

"It is not my desire to cause you pain," Hannibal said, frowning.

Will looked at the mantle. The golden-hilted dagger flashed from electric blue to pale orange in the blazing firelight.

Taking a deep breath, Will said, "I've come this far. What's a little further?"

A lukewarm puff of air caressed his bare chest when Hannibal opened his shirt and pushed the left sleeve over his shoulder, exposing him. Goosebumps rippled over his flesh like tiny waves. All he could hear was the fire crackling, and the sound of his own ragged breathing.

"I think we'll forgo the rolling of the pant leg, and the slipper," Hannibal said. Standing back, he admired Will's partially clothed form. "And alas, I have no rope. So we'll just have to make do."

Will gave a curt nod.

Hannibal lifted the corners of his sensual mouth. "You have been necessarily stripped. But I don't want to humiliate you, Will. I want to welcome you into the fold."

Will dropped his eyes to the floor. "I believe you."

"With that being said…" Hannibal licked his lips. "Shall we get on with it?"

"Go ahead," Will said.

Looking pleased, Hannibal took the tie off Will's shoulder and smoothly tied it around his eyes. It wasn't completely dark behind the blindfold, but it was dark enough for Will to feel blind. He felt Hannibal step away from him, and then walk to the other side of the room.

"So what do you I do next?" he asked to the corner he assumed Hannibal was occupying.

The power of the maestro was in his calm, soothing voice. "The burden of the ritual lies upon me. All you have to do is stand still and wait."

He felt hypnotized. Hannibal's words alternately relaxed him and set him on edge. There was something wildly freeing about putting himself in such a defenseless position. Will thought perhaps he had masochistic tendencies, to be able to partly enjoy this sort of torture.

He didn't hear Hannibal's footsteps returning, but he smelled him. The slight mixture of heady-sweet Armagnac and the rich scent of Hannibal's French-soap-scented skin filled his nose.

Hearing a small clink, he heard Hannibal remove the dagger from the mantle. Inadvertently, Will started breathing faster.

A warm, firm hand stroked his naked shoulder. "Do you swear to guard my secrets with your life?"

The cool tip of the dagger pressed into his bare chest. Deeply inhaling, Will closed his eyes behind the blindfold and succumbed to the scintillating knowledge that Hannibal's eyes were skewering him to the core.

"I swear."

Remnants of the Will Graham he once knew drifted towards an uncertain trajectory as Hannibal gently trailed the dagger down a little further to the center. He pushed the tip of the shining blade into the skin above Will's heart. It was almost enough to pierce his flesh, but not quite. Hannibal knew exactly what he was doing.

"I'm stricken by your beauty," he murmured close to Will's ear. His hot breath sent shivers down Will's spine. "It is as if I am viewing you with the eyes of a proud father."

Will's tone of voice did not betray his fear. "Is that how you see me? As your child?"

"I employ a multitude of lenses to observe you," Hannibal said, removing his hand from Will's shoulder.

Will forced his body not to tense. He still felt vulnerable, but the potential danger of the situation seemed to have past.

"Some of my views unfiltered, others muted," Hannibal continued. "Although the effect of the piece varies every time, the picture remains essentially the same." He traced the edges of the blindfold with the dagger.

Will's heart threatened to burst forth from his chest with the effort of the extra beats. He began to doubt his safety again.

"Your pulse is fairly pounding," Hannibal observed, gently skimming the side of Will's neck with the dagger. "Does your lack of control over this situation excite you?"

Will didn't know how to answer that. All the nerves in his body were buzzing from the overwhelming surge of conflicting emotions.

"Open your eyes, and perceive the world anew," Hannibal whispered.

Will felt the dagger move away from his neck. Hannibal sliced the tie in two. Will couldn't stop his gasp of relief. As the cloth to the floor, he winced and rubbed his eyes. For a moment, the dim room seemed too bright.

When he was able to focus again, he saw Hannibal staring at him with a look of reverence. "Your acceptance of your true nature is deeply moving to behold."

He let out a shaky laugh. "Perhaps evil becomes me."

"Not evil, Will," Hannibal corrected. "You might think that I am evil because I am destructive, but beauty is often born from the wrath of annihilation."

Will peered at him. "You consider yourself wrathful?"

Hannibal's gaze hardened. "Divine retribution spares none the forces of vengeance."

"Avenging or revenging?"

"Perhaps a little of both" Hannibal said. His features softened. "As long as you're by my side, I have little use for wrath."

Then, Will saw it: the fond look of devotion was not an act put upon in order to deceive him into friendship. However twisted and scheming, Hannibal's feelings for him represented a transmutation of true love. Clearly, Hannibal was falling for him.

The satisfaction of seeing his carefully executed long con falling neatly into place was intense. As long as the doctor remained in a state of intense infatuation, Will would continue to encourage the symbiosis between them, and keep carefully playing Hannibal for a fool. Willingly, he would respond to Hannibal's increasingly intimate overtures of trust and affection.

Tiptoeing around the underground bombs in the midst of the battlefield would not serve as the best action. Instead, Will would keep creeping through the trenches, weaseling his way over to the enemy's side. However far inside Hannibal's madness Will allowed himself to go, he could not lose sight of his ultimate goal. After all, Hannibal Lecter was the most brilliant killer Will had ever encountered.

Tapping into Hannibal's inherent loneliness with his gift of empathy, he would topple the empire Hannibal had spent countless years fortifying with diabolical precision.

"To the future," Hannibal said. He handed Will his glass of Armagnac and brandished his own. "A new world awaits."

They clinked glasses. As the fire's embers turned to ashes, Will hid his smirk of self-congratulation behind a preemptive sip of the profoundly enjoyable Armagnac.

* * *

**Chapter 3: Beasts** is coming soon. Stay tuned!

If you're looking for another free read, similar in tone to my Hannibal fic, try _**Crimson**_, the first book in my award-winning LGBT vampire series _**MASTER**_.

**Free** today (6/20) on Amazon.


	3. Beasts

Mason Verger was a weasel of a man. His stooped gait and frivolous hand gestures, coupled with an air of haughty insouciance, added to his lack of appeal. Worst of all, he had terrible manners—or rather, an entire lack of courtesy. Hannibal inwardly frowned when Mason casually scraped beneath his fingernails to remove a bit of dirt. Biting his lower lip in concentration, Mason pointedly flicked bits of filth onto the flawless office floor.

Hannibal's great displeasure reflected in his face. "Not having an heir might put you at a severe disadvantage," he said, reminding Mason of the subject at hand: Margot's pregnancy.

Mason peered at him. "How is that? I'm the only heir who counts right now."

"Indeed you are," Hannibal agreed. His eyes narrowed. "But what about the future, Mason? How does Margot factor into the vision you envision for yourself?"

It took Mason a moment to realize the implication behind Hannibal's question. He scowled. "Margot doesn't get her jollies from men very often, Doctor. At least, not as far as I know.."

"In matters of biology, that fact matters little," Hannibal replied, his gaze steady. "As you're well aware, Margot needn't prefer man in order to successfully conceive."

Mason peered at him in that hideous owlish way of his. "My dear sister wouldn't know what to do with a child," he sniffed. "She'd probably end up killing it by neglecting to feed the brat."

Hannibal's nostrils flared in contempt. "Are you going to leave yourself in a position of vulnerability, Mason?"

The heir to the Verger fortune smirked. "Doctor, are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"

Hannibal shrugged. "It's all in a matter of interpretation."

"Papa always said the power of words was in their propositional abilities."

"Right your papa was," Hannibal mused.

"You know, Doctor," Mason laughed in his flamboyant way. "I think you see suggestion and coercion as two disparate concepts."

"How observant you think yourself, Mason." Hannibal couldn't stop himself from saying. Pursing his lips, he surveyed Mason's agitated, hyperactive state. "You seem to be under the influence. Which drug is it?"

Mason tittered. "Fear, Doctor. Margot has found a way to continue the Verger name without me. That revelation is enough to spin my head around."

"What are you going to do about it, then?" Hannibal asked him. "Will you sit idly by and watch as your birthright is taken from you?"

"Margot's brat may not survive," Mason said. His eyes gleamed behind his glasses. "Accidents happen all the time."

"'From his high crest, headlong he plummets to the dust of hope,'" Hannibal quoted.

Mason's chin jutted forward. "Did you make that up?"

Hannibal smirked. "Perhaps in another lifetime, long ago."

* * *

A few hours later, he delicately sniffed the perfumed remnants of the silken hair-strands Alana had left on his clothes. Her company was usually enjoyable for short periods of time, but he didn't care for her growing doubt towards him. The questions she asked were becoming increasingly analytical.

Earlier, when they were kissing, he smelled the gunpowder on her hands. It troubled him, but not enough to reveal to her the side of him he kept hidden. Being trained in suspicion, her attitude didn't surprise him. Perhaps she finally saw past his person-suit, and glimpsed his monstrosity - the face only his victims saw, in their final, desperate moments of agony.

Sighing, he went over to his desk and opened the top drawer. He stared at the bullets he had pilfered only a few minutes ago, before Alana had slipped away, complaining of a migraine. He wished she would have been more original in making her excuse. It was an insult to his intelligence for her to be so careless. He had always hoped Alana would not become involved in the inevitable fallout of The Ripper, but he would show no hesitation in making her a casualty of war if need be.

Hannibal decided to warn Will immediately—just in case Alana had voiced her concerns to him - or to Jack. The dinner he had planned for tonight would present the proper time for him to bring up the sore subject of Alana's loyalty. Though he knew Will was on his side now, Hannibal swore not to delude himself about the depth of Will's feelings for his erstwhile love interest. The wound was still fresh.

* * *

As moonlight filtered through the French doors of Hannibal's dining room, it bathed Will's features with a gentle luminosity. Hannibal gazed at him, controlling his impulse to smooth the disheveled curls from his muse's forehead. Side by side, they stood by the French doors, watching the stars.

Hannibal had planned a late meal for them tonight: _mezethes_, a collection of small, savory plates; accompanied by Ouzo Giannatsi. The fiery Greek aperitif would fuel their ruminations about men and gods; good, evil, and the grey in between.

Hannibal handed Will his first shot of Ouzo, and then poured his own. Their sharing of dinner and drinks had evolved from a habit to a ritual since the night of Will's initiation into his hidden lair of secrets. Breaking bread together on a regular basis only strengthened their irrefutable bond.

Will regarded the clear, silky fluid in his shot glass. "Bottoms up?"

Hannibal shook his head. "Consume with caution. Ouzo is a fiery Greek aperitif known for its deceptive qualities." He eyed his drink. "Just when you think it hasn't affected you, the drink will reveal its unseen power to incapacitate. It's sometimes served with a small amount of cold, distilled water. Tonight, we're drinking it deeply chilled, as is customary in Greece. The experience will be more authentic as such."

A few crystals floated on the surface of the Ouzo. Will admired the drink for a moment longer before taking an experimental sip. Hannibal was pleased to observe from Will's expression that he might have a taste for it.

Licking his lips, Will said, "Licorice."

"Anise," Hannibal amended.

Will nodded, and took another thoughtful sip. "It's potent, but not overpowering."

Hannibal tasted his own drink. The anise flavor refreshed his palate. "Giannatsi is purportedly the finest Ouzo in the world."

Abruptly changing the subject, he said, "Alana is starting to suspect."

Will put down his drink. "Alana has proved herself to be an unreliable source," he said mildly. "She doesn't have any proof of our involvement in Freddie Lounds' murder."

"Of course not. Nevertheless, she may voice her suspicions to Jack."

Will shook his head in disagreement. "I don't think Jack gives much credit to Dr. Bloom's theories, especially since she was convinced I was the Chesapeake Ripper."

Hannibal noted Will's sarcastic delivery. "Do you give her any credit?"

"Perhaps you should be the one to judge her qualifications," Will said. He picked up his drink. "You know her on a level far more intimate than I do." Quickly, he drained the contents of his glass.

Hannibal frowned. "You do realize I'm not in love with her."

Will's laugh sounded painful. "It's a cold comfort to know that you're reveling in the spoils of your conquest without forming an emotional attachment."

"You've changed, Will," Hannibal mused. "I always sensed this day was coming, but I confess I did not discern its imminence."

"Now, that isn't true," Will said. He smiled without humor. "You have been waiting for my metamorphosis to quicken for ages now."

Hannibal looked at him in surprise. "Only because I knew it would ultimately benefit you."

Will's gaze darkened. "Sometimes I don't know who I am without the devil inside. I want him gone, but he's part of me."

"Then you should welcome him," Hannibal suggested. Leisurely, he took another swallow of Ouzo. Don't be fearful of the side of you that seeks to hide."

"Sometimes, it seems the very air I breathe is tinged with blackness." Briefly, Will closed his eyes. "It's suffocating."

Hannibal's eyes shone with dark purpose. "Humanity goes most recklessly astray at night."

"Humanity can go astray in broad daylight." Will countered.

Hannibal scrutinized the full moon. "Superstition indicates that violent crimes occur more frequently after the sun sets."

Will folded his arms across his chest. "I didn't think you had much room in your mind for superstition."

Hannibal kept his smile unreadable. "Instead of withering at night, you flourish. Take your creative display of Randall's corpse as an example."

Will nodded his head in Hannibal's direction. "Under your careful instruction, perhaps. You're watching me all the time; leading me in the direction you that best suits your proclivities."

Hannibal intently regarded him. "Are my proclivities so dissimilar to yours?"

Distractedly, Will rubbed the sides of his nose, feeling the slight grooves the nosepiece of his glasses made in the skin. "Perhaps not."

"I'm assisting you in realizing your potential." Hannibal reminded him.

"You want me to embrace the monster I'm becoming."

"Not the monster, Will," Hannibal said. "The man." Hannibal made eye contact with him. "My partner."

He found it deeply satisfactory to behold the newfound realization dawning in Will's face.

"This is far beyond friendship."

His eyes lingered on his muse a moment longer. "I shouldn't need to remind you that our bond reaches past the boundaries of patient and therapist."

He paused, and took a step in Will's direction. "If I told you I cared for you deeply, would it make me weak in your estimation?"

Will tightened his jaw. "Emotion itself can be a crippling weakness."

Hannibal could almost smell his heart racing. "It can also indicate strength of character."

Will took a step back. His body cast nebulous shadows on the wall. "Which is it for you?"

"I have watched countless patients succumb to the affliction of placing feelings above logic," Hannibal quietly mused. "Still, emotion is a powerful human experience. It's what sets us apart from beasts."

"Beasts have emotion."

Hannibal folded his hands in front of him. "When it serves a practical purpose, perhaps. Tell me, does the lion feel for his prey as he administers the kiss of death?"

"What purpose does our bond serve for you?"

"Our interactions remind me that my wish for inspiring companionship need not go answered."

"For the being, perhaps. Who knows how long this will last?"

Will's words made a distinct impression on him. Impulsively, Hannibal gripped his shoulder. "Do you think I could so easily let you go?"

"Nothing is easy with you. Except killing," Will responded.

Hannibal tightened his grip. "Were I to make an attempt on your life, would you resist?"

Will looked into Hannibal's eyes. "I would fight until the end."

Hannibal furrowed his brows. Will always managed to stir him whenever he rose to the occasion of a good verbal sparring.

"Will, you are very dear to me. I never want to see you suffer."

"You watched me suffer for months and did nothing about it. You encouraged my disease," Will said quietly. Hannibal detected an undercurrent of anger in his tone.

"I knew you would pull through eventually," said Hannibal in a brisk tone of voice. He let go of Will's shoulder. "You're stronger than you think."

"As strong as you are?"

Hannibal's half-smile spoke volumes. Grasping Will's chin, he tilted his head to the side. "You are my equal, Will. I've never met anyone else quite like you. Truly, you have exceeded my wildest expectations."

Without thinking, he stroked Will's cheek. The stubbled skin was warm beneath his fingertips. Bending down, he silently inhaled near the nape of Will's neck. The irritating mixture of cheap ship-bottle cologne hovered heavy on the surface, but the piquancy of Will's Ouzo-scented sweat was intoxicating.

Will took a sharp, audible breath. "I can't trust myself around you," he said through gritted teeth. "But you're the only one I can trust."

Lingering a moment longer, Hannibal removed his hand from Will's face and placed it on his shoulder instead.

"I'm very fond of you," he said in a low voice. "Let's keep it that way."

For a moment longer, his hand rested pleasantly on Will's shoulder. He could feel Will's quickening pulse, and the heat of his lightly perspiring skin.

Will stared at him. "What else do you want from me?"

Hannibal looked into his eyes. "Only what you want for yourself."

Will turned his gaze away. Looking out the window, he said, "What if I told you I had nothing left to give?"

Hannibal gave him a wry smile. "I wouldn't want to believe you," he murmured close to his ear.

Ever-so-slightly, Will's body relaxed into him. Lingering a moment longer, Hannibal couldn't resist briefly stroking Will's curls.

"I look forward to witnessing the continuous evolution of your transformation."

When Hannibal took his hand away from Will's hair, he was delighted to find that the conflicted expression on Will's face implied that he might have regretted the loss.

"Hannibal," Will began. He looked at the moon again. "I want—"

Suddenly, his cell phone rang. For a moment, he made no move to answer it.

Though he was curious to know what Will was going to say, Hannibal's keen intuition told him that the phone call was more important.

"Better take that," Hannibal suggested.

Will blinked. "Right."

Reaching into his pants pocket, he pulled out his cell phone and looked at the caller ID. He looked puzzled. With a frown, he answered the call.

"Margot? I was—what?" His voice grew in volume. "When? Are you—Is the baby—?" Will fell silent. His shoulders sagged. After listening to Margot for a few more seconds, he balled his hands into fists. "I'll be there soon."

Hannibal raised his eyebrows. Mason hadn't wasted any time ensuring that he had no competition to the Verger throne. His fast action was clever, yet despicable. Though Hannibal loathed him, he couldn't help feeling a mixture of satisfaction and relief that Mason had done his bidding, and severed Will's ties to Margot.

* * *

Will, still shaking with rage, stalked away from Muskrat Farm. How close he had come to dropping Mason into the pit of bloodthirsty pigs…but no, that was not a viable option. Jack needed solid proof of Hannibal's guilt in order to arrest him, and Mason Verger was the perfect prey. Hannibal detested the vile Verger. No doubt he harbored homicidal urges towards him. Mason Verger was the epitome of Hannibal's perception of rudeness.

Front and center on the stage of his design, Mason would meet a violent end; paying the ultimate price for his dirty deeds. It was a comforting thought. Will smiled in scandalous enjoyment of the scene his mind's eye created. His veins pounded with the thrill of the power that encompassed him.

Perhaps Hannibal would roast Mason on a spit until he was all rosy and brown; a beautiful green apple stuffed into his mouth. Green was the color of avarice. Mason would serve as the perfect main course in the next impeccably prepared supper for two.

_But it's Hannibal you want_, the part of his brain that wasn't infected by the doctor's influence muttered. Mason may have mutilated Margot, and ripped away Will's chance at becoming a father in the near future, but Will was certain that Hannibal had used his influence to tip the scales toward his preferred reality.

Curiously, the rage he ought to feel towards Hannibal transmuted into a homicidal thoughts towards Mason. Even though Hannibal was equally – perhaps more - guilty than Mason, Will couldn't find it within himself to freely hate him. His thoughts were too enmeshed within the elaborate personality he had constructed to keep Hannibal's suspicions at bay.

He had meant to stay on track with Jack and the FBI, but the more he allowed himself to become like Hannibal, the further away from legal justice he had strayed. Now, he couldn't trust any of his motivations; and he had grown weary of resisting his impulses.

_Come stand beside me_, the phantom voice of the hybrid whispered to him. _Immerse yourself in the darkness, Will_.

It was a beckoning too powerful to ignore.

* * *

Drill in hand, Hannibal advanced upon Mason Verger's prone figure.

"I could lobotomize you right now, but that wouldn't bring me total satisfaction," Hannibal declared, sweeping his hand through the air close to Mason's closed eyes.

A few minutes prior, Mason had gone under hypnosis almost instantly. It was Hannibal's first attempt at hypnotizing him, and so far, the results were better than expected.

Hannibal smiled without his eyes. "'What these shades could not satisfy in life, in death, they shall be denied for eternity,'" he quoted. "If you had ever studied the incomparable works of Virgil, you would recognize that often-quoted line from _Dante's Inferno_."

He paused, titling his head to the side to scrutinize his potential victim. Mason's face, features slack and smoothened by his drug-induced slumber, had a certain structural appeal. His mouth was sensual, ruddy from the constant nervous snaking of his tongue across the expanse of his full lower lip. He looked much younger, the lines disappearing the deeper he relaxed into sleep.

Despite his visual appeal, he was still a cruel, rough-mannered villain who disrupted the harmony of polite society.

The hand holding the drill hovered over Mason's mouth. "Lucifer's punishment for gluttony is eternal consumption and excretion," he continued. "My reach doesn't extend quite that far."

Dreamily, he envisioned awakening Mason with the announcement of his plans to cannibalize him; then cut out his scandalous tongue while it was still flapping inside his screaming mouth. After shoving the twitching muscle down Mason's throat and choking him with it, Hannibal would remove the freshly-acquired muscle and properly butcher it. Mason's tongue would work much better as meat than as a platform for his numerous misconceptions, and delusions of his own importance.

Hannibal's eyes rolled back into his head. He took a deep breath, savoring the tableau of the next intimate _table pour deux_ with Will. Mason, his office, and reality faded to grey as he entered the alternate universe his mind provided for him.

* * *

In a place that resembled his dining room, somewhere between his memory-palace and his realm of fantasies, a disembodied tenor voice crooned "Non Ti Scordar Di Me." The sound was delightfully soothing. Seated across from Will, he admired the meticulously crafted, edible art on each of their plates.

He sniffed the deliciously pungent air. Cut into bite-sized rectangular shapes, Mason's slow-cooked, quick-seared tongue rested in a pool of mint green gastrique. Smoked grapes and tempura-coated berries boldly accented the dish, brightening it with splashes of hot color. The sour-smoky richness of the tongue, mixed with the acrid gastrique and sour berries, lingered harmoniously inside his olfactory glands.

Hannibal relished the look of delight on Will's face when he placed a bite of the tongue in his mouth. Will tasted his food, chewing it thoroughly before allowing the pulpy meat to slide down his wet throat. He closed his eyes, sighing in pleasure. "This is much better than the beef tongue torchon you served last time."

Hannibal hid a smile behind a sip of Grenache Rosé, the bold choice of wine paired with the big-flavored torchon. "The two dishes are identical."

"Nearly," Will gently corrected him. "I can taste the difference in animal. What's your secret to tenderizing the meat?"

"Passion," Hannibal answered.

Will placed his napkin to his lips, wiping away a droplet of the spicy-sour gastrique. "You're passionate about the meat?"

"When revenge serves as the motivation behind action, it's possible to discover undeveloped facets of the self. I discovered something new about myself tonight."

He paused. Surprised, he felt a rare flicker of uncertainty. He had not expected to experience disempowerment through personal revelation.

"Whose revenge are you carrying out?" Will prompted.

Hannibal found his voice again. "Yours. I know how much you wanted a child."

Abigail stepped out of the shadows. "You already have one," she said. Shyly stepping into a puddle of moonlight, her soulful blue eyes found Will's.

Will's fork clattered on the floor. Tears of joyful confusion filled his eyes. "Abigail," he whispered.

Abigail turned her blue gaze on Hannibal. "Surprise."

Abruptly, Hannibal banished the daydream to the back of his thoughts. He was not ready to reveal Abigail yet. For now, she needed to stay hidden.

"'Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,'" he murmured to the silent room. He would have to bide his time, until Will had earned his surprise. Until he was absolutely certain that Will belonged to him.

With a sigh of regret, he moved the drill away from Mason's face. As much as he ached to end Mason's life, he would have to bide his time. He was not afraid of getting caught, as much as succumbing to impulse. Killing Mason would be an illogical decision, given the scrutiny of the FBI, and Margot as a loose end. He would have to forgo that particular desire until the opportunity presented itself in the future.

"I'll have you for dinner one of these days, Mason," he told the still-unconscious Verger. "Or perhaps, your pigs will. Either way, I can promise you this..." Hannibal hovered over him, eyes narrowed in disdain. "It isn't going to end well for you."

His pulse quickened as he uttered the threat. Just barely, he refrained from jamming the drill into Mason's heart. Shaking a little, he walked over to the cabinet where he stored his surgical tools and replaced the drill.

Reluctantly, he returned to Mason's side, and quickly awakened him.

Mason rubbed his eyes and stretched his arms over his head. "Papa always said wastefulness is morally corrupt."

"Perhaps your Papa had a valid point."

As anticipated, Mason harbored no memory of the hypnosis session. Hannibal inwardly congratulated himself on his success, and briefly envisioned the variety of methods in which he could lay Mason to waste.

"Waste not, want not," Mason said with an odd little cackle. Always in motion, he adjusted himself in the chair and pushed his glasses higher up on his nose.

"Where was I? Oh, yes. Children. Margot can't reproduce anymore." He beamed. "Such a tragedy."

After mumbling incoherently a few more agonizing minutes, Mason at last sauntered out the door. "Until next time, Doc."

Hannibal felt a physical sense of relief when he was finally gone. Still troubled by his earlier lapse in control, he distractedly tidied his desk. When he finished, he paced around the room. He felt restless; unsettled. He wondered why he felt like he was impatiently waiting for an unexpected visitor.

* * *

Silently, Will waited outside the door of Hannibal's house. His pulse was calm. The sudden clarity that came to him erased any persistent doubts.

When at last the door opened, Will saw the stag in Hannibal's place.

He stared at the creature. "I don't know how to feel about you."

For once, there were no conflicting emotions to overwhelm him. His state of mind was clear. Immediately, the stag dematerialized; replaced by Hannibal's familiar figure. He held the door open wider. Without hesitating, Will stepped across the threshold.

Hannibal smiled. Saying nothing, he answered with his eyes.

Will understood every word they spoke.

* * *

To Be Continued in **Chapter 4: Labyrinth. **Coming soon. Please leave a comment if you wish!

Follow me on Twitter for chapter release dates, excerpts, and more: janebled


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